In the Barrister's Bed Read Online Free PDF Page B

when dealing with his adversaries. It didn’t matter that he was now a duke and a member of the House of Lords. His legal training, his way of life, was an intrinsic part of his nature.
    She was a widow, and when he had asked about her previous home and husband, he detected a momentary flicker of fear in her eyes. She’d been quick to conceal it, and another man may have missed the telling signs—her quick gasp, the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, the slight clenching of her fingers beside her skirts—but not James.
    His instincts were well-honed from dealing with a wide swath of humanity—both victim and perpetrator. As a skilled cross-examiner, he had learned to carefully observe witnesses on the stand and not only to listen to the words that came from their lips, but to look for their physical responses.
    He had offered to pay Bella Sinclair from his own pocket should Redmond Reeves be found fundless. He had initially accounted her adamant rejection of his offer as hotheaded anger and sheer stubbornness, but his gut told him there was more.
    So what was the lovely widow hiding? A married lover, a hostile relationship with a meddling mother-in-law, or an overly aggressive creditor?
    James had never been one to enjoy investigative research, yet he could think of nothing more scintillating than digging through layer after layer until he discovered all of Bella Sinclair’s secrets. He was, after all, a seasoned barrister and a notorious lover—and, when he chose to combine his skills, he could be an expert manipulator. If money could not get her to quit the place, then he would woo her into revealing her secrets. Whatever trivial problem she was hiding, he would use to his advantage.
    His seduction must be systematic, methodical, and well-planned, his emotions tightly reined the entire time. Just like a trial, the jury must never see his inner turmoil, only a calm, confident barrister in control of his emotions and the courtroom proceedings, no matter what unethical tactics an opponent attempted or what surprising testimony a witness blurted out on the stand.
    Confident with his scheme, James chose a chair by the stone fireplace and sat. He studied the drawing room and soon childhood memories returned. There were notable differences in the décor since his last visit years ago. Gone were the Grecian-style furnishings and Wilton carpet. The wallpaper had been changed to a Chinese motif of winding bamboo, and an Oriental carpet covered the floor, yet the room struck a familiar chord in his chest.
    Even though he had inherited a vast amount of property throughout the country and a splendid London mansion, this small manor was an inner anchor, a place where he could escape and feel as if he truly deserved the dukedom recently bestowed upon him. The truth was he felt like a fraud usurping his half brother, Gregory, after all these years.
    Only at Wyndmoor Manor had James felt like the old duke’s son.
    Once a year until he had attended Eton, the duke would send a coach for James at the boarding school where he had resided and bring him to Wyndmoor. Here father and son would hunt, fish, and swim together. No grandmother, no Gregory, just James and the duke. The staff had been kind, and the word “bastard” had never been whispered in its halls. A full week later it would end, and the coach would return James to school.
    So why hadn’t the old duke publicly accepted him as his son? According to his grandmother, his father had confessed on his death bed that James was his legitimate child. Then why had he not claimed James during his lifetime? Instead James had spent his youth ostracized by his family, spending Christmas dinners at the homes of friends kind enough to share their tables with a duke’s bastard son.
    James had never been one to wallow in self-pity, and he had overcome his need of familial acceptance years ago. He had been driven to succeed, determined never to depend on handouts from his